The Whole World Blind
by rhymeswithmonth
Summary: He was lying in a bed, that much he had been able to deduce even through the pain."Madara, What is that" he asked "is that a name?" .The old man squinted at him unseeingly. "Why yes of course." He smiled "It's your name."
1. Chapter 1

Waking up this time was different than the others. Previously all he had been able to focus on had been the pain. It was an all consuming, tearing, _shredding_ pain that left absolutely no room for any other thought than _'IT HURTS'_.

But now, shifting groggily from the depths of unconsciousness, the pain has receded some. It's still there mind you, good god it's still there, but compared to the world shattering agony that had held the entire right side of his body captive, this was nothing.

Questions that should have been asked days, weeks, months ago finally floated to the front of his mind. He was lying in a bed, that much he had been able to deduce even through the pain. The blankets pulled over his prone body were smooth and virtually wrinkle free, the edges of the sheets still tucked under the mattress. He hadn't been moving much, after all.

The room smelled stagnantly of unwashed body rotting wound and medical balm. It was far too hot under the restricting bedclothes, and suddenly the itching of his healing wounds was unbearable. He decided to venture movement.

Rolling his head to the side proved attainable, and it renewed his sense of optimism. Slowly, he cracked open his eyes.

Oddly enough, this induced a hundred times more pain than moving his neck had. A piercing twinge shot through his left eye the moment he had clenched his facial muscles. Waiting a moment, he tried again, this time only opening his right eye.

After the initial adjustments, the room appeared dimly lit, the only light source a squat candle sitting on a wooden table directly across the room from the bed. Other than a dark crimson wall hanging behind the table, he chamber was sparsely decorated. A shadowy archway to his left revealed a flight of stairs curving away into the dark unknown above.

He was terribly thirsty, it felt like the walls of his throat were stuck together with paste. There was a water jug sitting beside the door, but the thought of the labors his battered body would be put though to drag him there eliminated any chance of helping himself to the liquid inside.

Letting his head thump back to the pillow with a moan, he slowly brought his left hand to his cheek. His fingers met the rough texture of gauze, it swathed his whole face, leaving only his right eye and mouth uncovered. The skin under the bandages stuck with what he assumed to be the healing balm. It itched like _crazy_.

Where was he? The room and everything in it was utterly unfamiliar. He couldn't remember how he had gotten there. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten injured either. Thinking hard, he winced. His head throbbed and caused tears to well in his uncovered eye. Why couldn't he remember? His mind seemed to be completely blank when it can to his past. Where was he? WHO was he? What the hell was going on?

A thump from above interrupted his internal panic attack and set him instantly on guard. The bandages covering his ears made everything muffled so he struggled to sit up it bed in order to get closer to the door. After a moment of rather pathetic struggling, he managed to prop himself up. Another thud, followed by another. Footsteps coming closer, down the stairs. Every aching muscle in his body was tensed, his senses-though impaired-were set on high alert. It appeared that whoever he was, he was trained to respond to high-risk situations.

A shadowed figure came into view on the stairs, feet appearing first, then the rest of his body, slowly, as he walked with a limp. He reached, on instinct, for the weapon that had long ago lain at his side. His fingers curled around empty air.

When the candlelight finally fell on the figures face, he didn't relax, not even when he saw that it was an elderly man. Very elderly, stooped with age, wizened and shrunken and feeble looking. Scraggly white hair clung to the wrinkled skin like lichen, falling away from his temples to leave the rest of his head bald as an egg. From deep within the pale folds of its face shone two milky excuses for eyes. This figure was quite blind.

It stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He continued to call it 'it' only so that he could distinguish this other human being from himself. He was 'me' 'I' 'him' because he had nothing else to call himself. It scared him to not have a name, so for now he claimed those pronouns as his own. This new person, for now, would remain an 'it'.

The old man cocked its head to the side, he appeared to be listening intently. The only sound that filled the room were his irregular breathing as he struggled to fill his throbbing lungs. Apparently this was what the man was hoping to hear, for a joyous, borderline psychotic grin fixed itself onto the wrinkled face. "You're awake" the voice that rattled from between the thin lips was weak, but it held more emotion than if he had shouted it off the rooftop.

Dropping the armful of towels he had been carrying, the old man limped to the bedside and reached a shaking hand towards his face. His first instinct was to edge backwards as far away from the claw-like appendage as possible. Adding to the desire to escape was the fact that the hand only had two fingers and a thumb. Where the other two digits had once resided there were only long-healed scars. Nevertheless, it was a rather unappealing sight.

The reason why he didn't draw away was because he suddenly found himself incapable of doing so. His entire body was paralyzed, as a matter of fact, he couldn't even feel the his injuries anymore. All he could do was stare into the old man's eyes, eyes that looked back and saw, no longer blind and white. They retained their milky quality, but had regained some colour. They were now dull pink around the black pupils. Three black tomoes were located in the iris, and they were transfixing. They took away the pain, relaxed his tense muscles, eased his scrambled thoughts and made everything better. These eyes were amazing.

"You like these?" the voice creak. "The sharigan is truly an amazing thing, even on a useless cripple like myself." The water jug was pulled with a scrape across the cement floor and the ladle raised to his mouth. He drank deeply, no longer perturbed by the mangled hand. Yes, he liked the eyes. They took away all the bad things that had been nagging at his no longer aching head.

And then the eyes were gone. The old man had his eyes closed, he had blinked and the influence of the eyes was gone. In the split second of clarity, he lunged forward, ignoring the agony that ripped through his broken body and punched the man in the face with enough force to send him reeling off the bed.

The strength in the blow surprised even himself, and the momentum carried him forward to sprawl across the mattress. He screamed in pain and nearly passed out again.

The old man had gotten to his feet. But instead of returning the blow as one might have been expected to do, he remained smiling. "Good, good, I see your strength has returned significantly." Dipping a towel into the water jug, the man leaned in to wipe his face. When he flinched, the man smiled reassuringly "Don't worry, I'm a friend. I know you may not remember, but I am an ally, you can let me take care of you."

He allowed the man to dab the cloth along the un-bandaged side of his neck. He was still weary to trust this guy, but he was crashing badly. The fatigue flooded his limbs and threatened his mind in the form of black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

The creaky old voice droned on, talking about his injures and the rehabilitation process that he was in the middle of. He didn't listen until he caught an unfamiliar word; 'Madara'.

"What was that" he interrupted "Was that a name?"

The old man squinted at him unseeingly. "Why yes of course." He smiled "It's your name."

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Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto and CO.

Unfortunately I wasn't into Naruto when the Tobi/Obito theory was still valid. But I still think it is a really interesting idea, with tons of evidence backing it. I mean, Same hair style, the only right eye showing, the sharigan, the similar names, even the orange motif! It would explain a whole lot, and be an awesome, if not predictable plot twist. So here I am, a little late, but that doesn't matter. The first page of a comic trying to keep the Tobi-is-really-Obito theory alive.

This is based on my little Doujinshi that can be found on my DeviantArt account (link in my profile) if anyone is interested.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Four years later**_

The hair-raising sound of metal sliding against metal hissed softly through the air. He sat on the damp ground with a pile of dull kunai at his feet. He brought the blade of the one in his hand to his finger and gently touched the digit to the edge. With the lightest contact, a dark spot of blood, more black than red, welled at the tip of his middle finger. he watched intently as the beed grew too heavy to stay perched in its precarious balance. It trickled slowly off, then darted down the steep slope of his outstretched palm. His bent wrist proved an obstacle, but was soon overcome as the glinting drop found a crease of skin and rolled off into the dirt below.

The boy known as Madara studied the ruby-coloured track left on the pale skin of his right hand. It was uneven and staggered due to the criss-cross of scars that it had had to maneuver around. The surface lumpy from broken bones that had not healed correctly.

He left the cut alone. It would heal by itself, and anyway, it was only one more blemish that would blend into the configuration that stretched across more than sixty percent of his body. He laid the freshly sharpened Kunai to the side after wiping the tiny blot of his blood off on his tunic. Picking up another from the dull pile, he re-started the process.

He hated tasks like this one. They were repetitive and mind-numbingly boring when what he really wanted to be doing was training hard and getting stronger. His knee tapped up and down impatiently. He wasn't meant to sit still like this, he just knew it. This was such a waste of time.

But Nezumo insisted it be done. _Sharpen your own blade _he admonished _and you can be sure that it will be sharp_. Pfft paranoid old man, he was just too lazy to do it himself.

Twenty minutes later found Madara on his last kunai. He was reaching to pick it up when he heard the familiar shuffling sound of Nezumo's approach. He groaned inwardly and picked up the weapon. No doubt the old man was here to assign him yet another tedious chore before disappearing again, back to where ever he went when he wasn't in their small under-ground compound. Which was most of the day-lit hours.

He didn't even look up until Nezumo called out his name. "Madara" as always the scratchy sound of the old voice yanked at the frayed ends of his patience. Madara turned his head to look up at his caretaker. The slight widening of his single eye was the only outward sign of his surprise when he caught sight of what the old man had brought with him.

There was another person there. It was a female, her slender body looked tiny next to Nezumo's sturdy form. Her arms were bound behind her back, and there was a rough brown hood pulled over her face.

It was the first other human being Madara had seen in the four years he had lived with Nezumo. So to him, she was the first person ever he'd seen, that he could remember at least. She was dressed in simple, battle-suited gear. A tight v-neck tank-top was layered under a light-grey padded vest. The arms behind her back were sheathed in long dark gloves that stopped short of her shoulders. Her black pants and sandals were practical.

Madara looked up at his mentor with questioning eyes. What was this all of a sudden? Up until now, Nezumo had forbidden contact with the world outside their little forest hideout, saying that there were people who would kill him if he ever left, enemies from his life before. That was why they were working so hard to make him strong again, so that he could protect himself from those wanting to do him harm. And now he had brought this stranger right to their door.

Nezumo sensed his confusion. "It is time" he said, his voice filled with dark glee. "Kill this girl, and your training will be complete."

Nezumo stared at the slight figure before him, then looked down at his hand, curled around the freshly sharpened kunai. Flecks of dark silver metal still clung to its surface, and dusted his hands and pants, glinting against the dark fabric. He didn't see how the death of one person could complete four years of intense training, but he had to trust Nezumo. The old man knew more about him than he did, and had not let him down yet. Madara pushed himself up and stood.

He took a step forward, then another. He clenched the handle of his blade tightly, ignoring the protests of his permanently damaged bones. His first kill. He had to do this right, he couldn't afford to mess it up.

The sounds of the forest faded away, all of his senses honed in on the girl in front of him. She was shaking, the ends of her dark auburn hair sticking out from under the hood quivered against her creamy skin. He could see every goose bump, the delicate sheen of sweat. He slipped into the sharigan effortlessly. She was tied up, but there was no room for mistakes.

Nezumo pulled the hood off of her head, allowing the wind to grab her hair and blow it in a wave behind her. She was wearing a mask which was odd, but it didn't matter. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut against her fate. He raised his arm, muscles prepared to thrust forward.

Her eyes opened slightly to stare death in the eye. A sliver of doomed chocolate brown met his, and-

"OBITO!"

-he plunged the kunai upwards, between her ribs, aiming right at the heart. But her cry jerked her body a fraction of an inch, and the blow wasn't dead centre. Blood oozed around his hand as he twisted the blade deeper. He stared past the blank eye-holes of the eery white mask at the tear-filled eyes, now wide with shock and pain.

The eye contact lasted only a moment, before he pulled his hand back, and the knife slid from her chest with a wet squelch.

Her legs gave away and she collapsed forward. Madara steeped to the side and out of the path of her fall. She landed gracelessly, facedown in the dirt. Her mask came loose and landed beside her, staring up blankly at the sky.

He turned away, wiping his hand on his pant leg in disgust. Killing people was a mess business, but he'd have to get used to it. He started to walk back to his pile of sharpened kunai, with the intention of taking them inside before the wet ground ruined them.

He'd only taken a few steps when a wet cough came from the body behind him. Damn it, he hadn't killed her. Whatever, she'd bleed out soon enough. But then he heard her voice, barley audible, "-to obit...to...to-" He froze,, "What did she say?" he barked at Nezumo. The old man shook his head, blind eyes wide "Nothing Madara," he croaked "Nonsense I'm sure, finish her off now!" He turned back, annoyance gripping him. He walked over to where she'd fallen and bent down beside her.

"Hey!" he snapped "what did you just say?" And then impatiently when all she did was cough weakly "Oi! Answer me!" He grabbed her shoulder violently and rolled her towards him. "Hey! I'm talking to y-"

"You're alive"

She gazed up at him in wonder, and despite the pain in her eyes, the tears that rolled down her cheeks were ones of joy. And her quivering, bloodstained lips curved upwards, forming a smile of pure gladness.

He froze, his hand falling off her shoulder in amazement. That face, this girl...a flash of colour in his mind, _sunlight bounced off setting dark hair ablaze, a smile, so sweet and genuine, a smile for him, because of him. Such a happy moment, a happy __**memory**__. He was so content...she made him so happy..._

"I'm so happy" She whispered, her voice hitched with a sob, the tears mingled with the blood on he face. Her lips moved, mouth forming the word, the name...

"Obit...obi..to" said with such deep reverence, like nothing he'd ever heard, the syllables spoken made him feel like he'd been the one stabbed... it hurt, her voice hurt him so much...

Without thinking he had raised his hands above his head, bloodstained kunai gleaming. he was screaming at her, blood rushing in his ears, he felt too hot, him skin was no fire. shut up **shut up SHUT UP SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!**

Down cam the kunai. Something warm splattered against his face. His eyes were scrunched tightly shut, not looking, not looking, not looking...

His heartbeat slowed to a less frenzied pitch, and the flames licking his mind subsided. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes. His hands swam into focus, wrapped around the handle of his knife, the knife that had disappeared deep into soft flesh. So deep that it was digging into the dirt below the body.

That's all it was now, a body. All life and light had fled, or rather, been forced out. Blood still trickled into the earth, but that was the only movement. The joyful girl was dead. He reached up to touch his face. Sure enough, his cheeks were wet. He swiped an arm across to dash away the weakness.

It took him a full minute to realize that something had changed. He looked around. There was something different about the quality of his vision. He stared at his gore-splattered hands. He still had the sight of the sharigan, but there was a whole new feeling to it. His chakra buzzed with the sensation.

Standing took much more effort than it should have, as he suddenly felt unexplainably exhausted, as if all of his energy had been drained. His foot nudged something hard and her looked down. It was the girl's mask, sitting in a pool of blood.

"_She looked at me with that face..."_

He reached down slowly, and picked the mask up. If this is what happened, if this is what it felt like, when someone saw his face...

"_...and I felt so happy"_

...Then he wanted no part in it.

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So I changed the title. It is based on the famous quote "An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind." (Mohandas Gandhi)

There are many little reasons that I chose this quote. Some of them more important than the others. being;

1. One of the characters IS blind

2. The main character has amnesia, so is in a way 'blind' to his past

3. There's a lot to do with eyes in the plot

4. Several characters display ignorance (blindness) towards others feelings (love is blind)

5. The "eye for an eye" part ties in nicely because the motives behind a few of the characters' actions is revenge.

6. The characters preform literal eye transfers, taking each others' eyes and leaving them blind.

While writing this, I listened to 'Life is Beautiful' by Sixx:A.M. some of the lyrics really fit the plotline. It's also one of my favourite songs.

Anyone have an idea who the girl is? (I think it's pretty obvious :P


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